


Emergence

by cadkitten



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Obsession, Oral Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Blake finds it hard to keep his place as a Detective without the addition of his nighttime alter ego: Nightwing. Fighting crime in Gotham simply becomes easier without the law holding you back, especially when it comes to the big game.  SPOILERS FOR THE END OF DARK KNIGHT RISES</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergence

**Author's Note:**

> Robin John Blake/Bruce Wayne  
> Beta Readers: elyachan  
> Song[s]: "Today We Are All Demons (Beneath the World Mix)" by Combichrist

Paris... it was a foreign land to Blake. He wasn't entirely used to the way things worked here, even after having been in the city for nearly a month. Everything was so backwards from Gotham. Even as he navigated the Aston DB6 along the roads, he felt as though he were somewhere completely otherworldly than Gotham. For one, it was more peaceful here. Every street wasn't another memory of a crime he'd had to waylay in one form or the other. Every turn didn't bring him closer to something else he'd have to solve.

In reality it had become tiresome for Blake. The constant movement from his daytimes on the police force and night times growing into Gotham's newest protector. With Batman out of the picture things had gone from bad to worse and even as Blake had tried his best to combat it from the confines of the law... he'd found why Bruce Wayne had done what he had. He'd known, even before he'd really gotten himself familiar with the man... he'd understood the reasoning behind the Batman: what he stood for and why he operated from his own confines. And, even then, he'd understood why some people let him slip from under the police's fingertips time and again.

But now... after nearly a year and a half of Batman being gone, Blake understood in a way he never could have before. He had seen firsthand what happened when there was no one taking the law into their own capable and willing hands. He watched as Gotham crumbled under the weight of the criminals that were too far outside the gap in police ability. Even with his upgrade to 'Detective' he still wasn't qualified to be dealing with the intensity of what he was presented. Bane had only been the beginning in the reign of terror falling down upon the city.

And eventually... he had grown tired of it. He'd gone back to the cave and he'd found that Bruce had willingly left everything to his command and identity. For months, he'd filtered his way through the files and figured out how they were updated, how the data worked and what would become useful both in his job as Detective and outside of that. And he'd trained... he'd trained like he never had before. Everything Bruce had left him had a purpose and a place in his life and that included the small training and simulation facility attached to the cave. 

He'd already been fairly in shape, muscled but not more than was necessary. Now, though, he was what could be considered buff; his musculature developed and honed to allow him to be agile on his feet and yet strong enough to pull himself over a ledge with only his fingertips grasping him there. The changes had been noticed at work, he'd had a few comments, but he waved it off as getting in shape because of some health concerns and no one had questioned him any further, though a few key people occasionally gave him a knowing look.

When the time had finally come, the next huge threat hanging over the city's head, he had donned the costume for the first time. And it had felt anything but right. He was no Batman and he never would be. It was not a pair of shoes he could ever hope to fill and he wasn't about to try. He'd worked quickly and designed his own costume... and his own name. _Nightwing_. He had taken a can of blue spray paint to Batman's costume and ditched the well-known mask for one of his own making: a diamond between his eyes and larger diamonds over them, creating enough of a mask to hide his identity but not enough to be a hindrance in battle. And he'd gone off into the night, having little to no idea what to expect.

He'd spent the next three days feeling like he'd been hit by a mac truck and he'd come out of it on the losing end. Even the successive battles had been rough. But each one brought him closer and closer to the reality of what he needed to do... what he needed to be. At long last, he'd come out on top and it had felt like he imagined a junkie's first dose would: liquid heaven in his veins. From there, he rarely came out of a battle worse off than his enemy. Granted, sometimes it happened, but for the most part he dumped the criminal in the laps of the police department with proof of their wrongdoings slapped up over them, exposing their shame to the world. As time went on, he began to hear his name... began to see the signs that Gotham was accepting their newest savior. The splashes of a flying blue V over a billboard or the whispering of his name over someone's morning pastry while he waited on his coffee.

But now... now he had left Gotham behind in pursuit of his own dream. This was something he had to do for his own sake... for his own piece of mind. He'd accepted many things as truth in his life, but one of the pieces that just didn't fit was Bruce leaving him everything so neatly... preparing for his death in such a way with a man he barely knew. And now Blake knew so much more about Bruce. The intimate details had been in the database. Every fight, every drop in the bucket of history that the Batman had failed to erase. And every single detail of Bruce Wayne outside of the Batman, collected and archived methodically, most of the files neatly labeled with Alfred's ID tag in the system. He had to hand it to the man... he'd been thorough.

And then the signs began to pop up... the more Blake spoke with Alfred the closer he got to realizing something was amiss. He'd seen the old man some days after the funeral had been held and he'd been downright distraught. The boy he'd basically raised was dead and he'd tried to tell him... and he felt nothing if not responsible for not holding Bruce back further. It was more obvious than anything else had been to Blake... even though he'd known from the first time he'd set eyes on Bruce Wayne that he was the Batman. Alfred loved him in a way that was more for family than for hired help. And then... things had changed. It was only a few months later when Blake ran into him again and he'd been far too cheerful. A happily retired old man, not the distraught, on the edge of his life, man he'd encountered before. That had been tip-off number one. But then headlines from Europe started to pop up on his radar... seeing as how he'd broadened the spectrum of the information gathering and upgraded the system with the remaining money Bruce had left him in the cave. More often than not, he watched as things in Paris were mysteriously solved... information simply falling into the hands of the police force without a source. It was all too suspicious not to check out and it had Bruce's MO written all over.

With that in mind, he had packed his bags and taken his long-accrued vacation time from the Gotham PD and departed on a two month vacation to Paris. He'd left behind a few prepared incidents to automatically give information to the police department in his stead while he was gone so that it wouldn’t appear as if Nightwing had vanished when he had, and he had hopped the first plane out.

The Aston he now navigated through the snowy streets of Paris was a rental. It had been too classy to pass up and he'd always wanted to drive one. Plus it kept him high-profile if anyone wanted to track him. It was a technique Bruce had used for years and Blake so no reason to alter it. He was using his own saved up funds from the force for the vacation and even the rental fell within the bounds of his budget. 

He pulled up to a stoplight and sat there, staring out at the lamps along the street, the yellow orbs reflecting the white flakes of snow as they silently drifted down from the sky. He was used to the cold, but it appeared that Paris was an unusual place for snow... something that made him smile. The voice of someone from his past whispered quietly to him that he had brought it with him and it brought forward the warmth of a good memory. Maybe the snow was stopping most of the city's occupants from their missions for the day, but not him. He would not be deterred this time. Twice he'd been cast off the trail he was following toward what he suspected to be Bruce Wayne. The third time was a charm and he was more determined than ever to ensure he found what he'd come looking for.

He upped the heat one more notch on the dash controls and then pulled out as the light changed, the car purring beneath the touch of his foot to the gas petal. A more serious look slid back over his face as he focused on the topic at hand. How would he explain why he was here? What would he tell Bruce if it was, indeed, him that he found in this apartment, tucked away in one more the lesser noticed districts of Paris? And beyond that... what if things didn't go his way at all?

But those were worries he'd cast aside when he'd made the decision to take his 'vacation' here. Things that would either work themselves out... or wouldn't. They were not dependent upon only one John Blake... but also upon Bruce. Upon circumstance. Upon a million other things that had nothing to do with him.

He turned down the last street and finally slid the Aston into a parking space in front of the complex. It wasn't actually an apartment, it seemed, but a condominium-like structure, something reminiscent of what parts of Gotham had once looked like back in the early fifties. Classy but dignified. He pulled himself from the car and straightened his grey suit jacket over the black and white striped shirt he wore. Locking the car, he pushed the keys into the pocket of his black slacks and made his way up the small staircase to the door. Peering at the two names on the plate, he debated. Finally, he pressed the top one labeled Addison. 

A few moments passed and finally a voice crackled across the speakers... a voice that took Blake's breath away. If it wasn't Bruce's voice it was surely a good imitation thereof. He'd heard that voice a million times, every clip of every interview and event the man had ever been to played far too many times. A shiver slid down his spine and he offered, "Mr. Addison? I believe... you may want to speak with me."

There was a moment of silence and then the buzzer sounded. Blake stepped through the door and closed it soundly behind himself. He checked his surroundings and then took the few steps down the hallway to the left door and gently knocked.

The door opened, though Blake couldn't see anyone, and a voice offered quietly, "I always knew you'd figure it out, though admittedly, you're years ahead of schedule. Do come in, Blake."

He hesitated, piercing eyes evaluating he would be much more comfortable knowing who he was dealing with for sure... uncertainty reading out even in the lines of his body as he waited there, just on the threshold.

The overhead lamp just inside the door clicked on and the owner of the voice stepped out from behind the door. "More comfortable now?"

A smile crept across Blake's face as he finally moved into the other's home, the door shutting firmly behind him, the lock clicking shut with a metallic clink. "Much."

Bruce moved past him, gesturing him after him into the parlor. There were two cups of tea already set out, steam still rising from the cups and a fire going in the small fireplace just beyond the length of the couch. Bruce took a seat in the single armchair across the table from the couch and then gestured. "Please..."

Settling down, Blake studied him for a few lengthy moments, finally shaking his head. "I wanted to believe it... you have no idea how much I wanted to."

"But some part of you remained skeptical." Bruce smiled... _actually smiled_ and then dropped a single sugar cube into his cup, picking up a small silver spoon and stirring the hot liquid. "That's what made you perfect... Robin."

Blake's eyes flicked up from where he'd been debating his teacup to stare fixedly at Bruce for a moment. "Not the name I prefer."

"So I have seen." Another quirk of those perfect lips. "Nightwing it is, then." Bruce lifted his cup as if to toast it and then took a long drink from the liquid, unfazed that it was nearly scalding in temperature. 

Blake sat back and crossed one leg over the other, his hands loosely interlocked in his lap as he regarded the other man. "You could have stayed to train me."

"You did well enough on your own."

"Maybe I would have been better with you," Blake shot back.

"And perhaps I was not what you really needed right then."

"You do that... you have done that your entire life. You assume what everyone else needs and disregard what they could want."

"The Batman needed to disappear, John." Bruce took another drink from his cup and then put it back down on the tray. "And Bruce Wayne needed to fade off the map. I gave that city all that I could... it was time for a change."

"I never said you owed the city anything." Blake was quiet as he finally picked up his teacup, smelling the contents and then placing it back down, giving Bruce a slightly annoyed look. "Was that supposed to be funny?" he asked, flicking his fingers at the cup.

"No, it was supposed to be an evaluation."

"I thought you weren't going to train me."

"And I thought you'd be years behind this on figuring out I wasn't actually dead."

This certainly wasn't going the way Blake had envisioned it. He slid his arms closer to his body and then shifted uncomfortably. "Regardless... I didn't come here asking for help... or training." There was half of it... some shallow portion of the truth. Too shallow. But the truth was a stain on his name... on his consciousness. It had been since he'd been a child, looking up at Bruce Wayne and realizing who the polished man before him really was. A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the remaining chill from outside and everything to do with the actuality of what was going on in his mind.

Bruce didn't comment... didn't say a single word to him. He simply watched... and waited. 

It took him a good ten minutes, but finally he breathed out, "I'm here on personal business." His eyes lifted to meet Bruce's own, only to find the older man had been staring at him the entire time, those piercing eyes quietly deducting while he'd been pondering. "I'm sure you have it all figured out by now. Maybe you always knew."

Bruce pushed himself up off his seat, a slight limp to his step as he closed the space between them and came to the edge of the couch. He stood there studying Blake for what seemed like an eternity. "You may be an open book on a hell of a lot, but you're tighter than a drum on this one. Whatever it is, it's your secret until you choose to let it be otherwise." With that, he walked past him and moved to pick up the metal poker from the hearth, prodding at a log to get it a bit closer to the older, dying one.

Without really thinking it through, Blake offered, "Obsession... dedication... desire. It's not a new thing, Bruce... it was only new when I was a boy." He watched the way Bruce's back stiffened and how carefully he stood up, knowing well that those signs weren't the best in the world for him. "It didn't start... this way though. I looked at you and I saw my hero. I saw the city's hero. The big protector, so powerful and strong. I saw everything I ever needed to see in you, the things I couldn't see in anyone else. Maybe I shouldn't have placed such things on already burdened shoulders, but trust me, I wasn't the only one who did." He paused, almost waiting on Bruce to cut him off, stop him in the midst of his admissions before he could get too far... tell too much. But the older man simply stood with his back to him, attentive but unresponsive.

"But the older I got... the more times we saw you at the orphanage... the more it grew. It went from an imagined connection with my hero to something far less healthy. In my teens..." he waited, almost begging Bruce to stop him from telling his shame. But no words came and he plunged forward, knowing he had to. "It evolved... as things do with any growing boy." Even as he spoke the words, the memories came flooding back: nights spent in the single bathroom of the orphanage, his blood pounding in his ears as he finished his dirty deeds as quickly as possible and nearly always with a certain face in mind.

He shivered and this time it was obvious, his entire body wracked with it. He looked back down at the rapidly cooling tea and he breathed out a sigh. "It never really went away. It wasn't just the Batman I was... enamored with. It was the reality and the mask. The combination of the two. I know a load of therapists would have something significant to say about me pushing off all kinds of fucked up things onto someone I couldn't possibly obtain. But fortunately for me, I've never had a shrink dig that deep... we're required you know... especially as Detectives. We have to see one every month. But she's never dug into that shit... not her job."

"Maybe it's not the shrink you want to be talking about, John." The words were quiet, but far more gentle than Blake had ever heard Bruce's voice be in all the times he'd heard it.

"Right..." he studied the other man's back for a few moments and then cleared his throat. "Operative questions first, I guess. Do you... have anyone in your life?"

A quiet scoff came from the older man. "A lover, you mean?" He finally turned around, dark eyes piercing Blake's own. "No. I've had my fair share in my life and a few since I've been in Paris, but... no, not right now."

"No one... you desire?"

"Don't be stupid. Everyone has someone they desire in some way, be it sexually or not. You're skirting the real issue here." He moved toward John very slowly. "Do you know what I find most bizarre?"

"What?" Blake breathed out.

"That you've come all this way... spent all this time and energy tracking me down... and for what? Not to ask me how I lived through an explosion that by all rights should have killed the entire city, not just me... not to ask me for advice as the Batman. Not even for the training as you so adeptly attempted to derail me into believing you might have been after when you first arrived. You've spent god only knows how much effort finding me... to _fuck_ me." He huffed out a quiet little laugh. "That's a lot of effort over a lay, don't you think?"

Blake sat back, crossing his arms and casting one last annoyed look at Bruce before looking away. "Sometimes human nature gets in the way of things. I didn't use the term obsession lightly. I honestly... wanted you to be alive more than anything. I wanted that knowledge. The fact that I have some deep-seated issues and have coughed up the fucking balls to ask you 'for a lay' as you put it is secondary. What if this is the last time I ever see you? What would I regret most? The answer doesn't come up as 'get some training from Batman', okay?" He shook his head lightly. "You once told me you didn't like people skirting the issue at hand. I took it to heart and I'll take it one step further toward completion. Do you have any sexual interest in me or am I making a fool of myself even trying?"

Bruce's lips curved up in a smile and he took the final few steps to put him in front of Blake, his crotch right at eye level, unavoidable unless the other looked back up, which he instantly did, his instant response obvious even just at a glance. "Bruce Wayne has always been equal opportunity. It's just not a well-known fact."

"Relevant," Blake breathed out, shifting his leg off his knee and subconsciously spreading his legs as he gazed up at the older man. Already the idea of it was turning him on, making his cock start to harden his pants, the tent rapidly growing, his breathing changing.

"Eager," Bruce returned, reaching down and gliding his fingertips over the younger man's cheek. "If it's sex that you want... then I think that's a wish that can be granted." He placed one hand on the arm of the couch and leaned down, fingertips catching Blake's jaw as he brushed his lips over the younger man's own. He gave it a few feather-light passes before he forced his lips harshly against Blake's, tongue swiping over the seam until he was allowed in and then plundering the depths of his mouth. By the time he was done, Blake was a helpless mess beneath his touches, nearly quivering with everything he was holding back. He slid his hand along the younger man's thigh, touching the outline of the condom within his pocket and then to the tube of what he assumed was lubricant. "Presumptuous."

"Prepared..." came the response. "Never... assume, always prepare."

"A good motto to live by." Bruce caught his lips again, groaning into the kiss this time when John began to return it. Hands came up to his chest and began to paw at him, passing over the buttons and popping each one open as they went. The dexterity of it was impressive on its own. One of Blake's hands wandered down toward his own responding length and he caught his wrist, pinning the wandering hand against the back of the couch, breathing out, "Too fast," into his chosen lover's mouth. "Take your time... enjoy. Maybe you're overly eager... maybe you want nothing more than to achieve what you want. But never forget to live life to the fullest in those other moments. Never make my mistakes."

He'd been about to retort, about to tell Bruce he was one to talk, but the last sentence caught him off guard. Regret lay heavy in the advice and he found himself caught in the tide of the emotions those few words threw at him. He shifted back from the searing kiss Bruce had been giving him and studied him for a few moments before finally offering a quiet, "I want to see you, Bruce... every single inch of you."

"Your imagination may hold more valuable things," the older man returned quietly, his fingers already unfastening the cuffs of his shirt as he spoke. "Be certain you want what you ask for."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it. I know... I'm aware of what I'm asking to see. You're just as human as I am and believe me when I tell you... I've lost my fair share of things so far."

"It's a hard life." The shirt fell to the floor, revealing that Bruce had been keeping up his physique, though not to the incredible levels as he had before, he was still muscular, still definitely in shape. The scars that littered his body were numerous, some faint and some still bright pink and trying to fade away. Even as he unfastened his belt, John found it harder and harder not to want to worship every single one of those scars, to thank him for everything he'd ever done for Gotham by touch and kiss, lick and suck. Everything the other had ever sacrificed, Blake wanted to thank him for a million fold.

In the end, he gave in, sliding from the couch and falling to his knees on the soft rug. He kicked his shoes off and shed his suit jacket, letting it fall on the couch he'd just occupied. Settling, his fingers unfastened his belt, but left it at that, his eyes never leaving Bruce's body as it was revealed to him, layer after layer of clothing falling away to reveal new expanses of skin. By the time the older man stood bare in front of him, Blake's breathing was quickened, his pulse racing with anticipation of all that was to come. "I want you." His voice was laced with every ounce of desire he could have ever possibly held, near desperation vibrant in it.

Bruce smiled softly, reaching down to run his hand through his protégé's hair, gently caressing the locks as they fell through his fingertips. He didn't say it, but there was an air about him that was questioning... begging John to choose his path and take the lead for the mere breath of a second. And he did, pulling his shirt over his head and casting it aside, revealing the newer scars, the remnants of battles fought and lost - some of them won at the cost of his own blood - the scars of a warrior. Even as his mouth tasted the first of Bruce's many scars, he felt the older man's fingers upon his own, finding and caressing the first of his scars, found in battle long before his days as Nigthwing, a clip from a kid who thought himself above the law, out of his mind on the newest street drug. Each one held a spark of a memory. As his fingers caressed another, Bruce's slid down to the largest wound, a jagged number he'd tried to patch up haphazardly across his bicep... and the memory hit him like a ton of bricks.

The threat had been less of a single person and more of an organization... something he'd not been ready to take on when he had. He'd lost harder than he'd expected to and he'd nearly been found out as to who he was, barely escaping with his life. A bullet to the thigh, several stab-wounds to the torso - fortunately missing all major organs - and this number which had gone bone-deep and nearly severed some major shit in his arm. He still remembered the fear... the pain... and he backed off, staring up at Bruce, his eyes wide with the pieces of emotions he'd long since attempted to repress. Even as the apology bubbled up, Bruce was shaking his head. "You need to know what you're living with... that everywhere you go, Nightwing goes. Everyone you ever allow into your life will have some sway over your emotional outlet... it's in how you mask it... or don't. Who you let close and how close you let them."

Blake nodded and then lifted one hand, running it over his face with a sigh. He dropped it back down, his eyes flicking over Bruce's body again, finding each of those battles and knowing he had intimate details on a lot of them thanks to Alfred's meticulous record-keeping... and that Bruce had left them there for him to find, for him to read and take into himself. Each one wasn't a mere record, it was a warning and a lesson. Not one was simply a piece of the Batman... no, it was all intimately wrapped up within every single person who had been involved in each incident. Even not expecting to learn, he'd stumbled headfirst into another lesson.

His eyes finally came to rest on Bruce's length, already slightly hardened, though not fully so. With little warning, he leaned in, dragging his tongue over the entirety of it, causing Bruce to groan. Good... he'd caught him off guard. Taking the tip into his mouth, he began to suck, working up enough spit to move over him rapidly. The feeling of Bruce's cock hardening against his tongue was one he knew he'd never forget. He certainly wasn't the first man he'd ever been with, but it was unique... entirely different from everyone else. His emotions ran rampant within him, his lust fluttering in the depths of him as he worked. And Bruce... Bruce was different than he'd ever fantasized he would be. He wasn't forceful and he certainly wasn't bending him over the couch and having his way with him. Some part of John had always imagined him as a man who would take control and push for what he wanted in bed. But this man was passive... and yet in control. Intense and yet not forceful. Even as he learned all of these things, Blake found he liked them better than the version in his head, loved the pieces for the fact that they made up parts of the whole.

Bruce gently tugged on the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck, his hips finally pushing forward, the action seeming nearly involuntary, and Blake pulled back from his cock to find the older man smiling down at him. "If you'd like for this to be more than you sucking my dick in my living room, I suggest you let up a bit."

John breathed out a soft laugh and wiped his hand over the back of his mouth, his fingertips fluttering down to his slacks, caressing lightly over the front, providing some satisfaction to his aching cock. He grabbed himself a bit harshly, squeezing before letting go and unfastening the button and then lowering the zipper. He pushed his thumbs under the elastic of his underwear, pulling both garments down at once, allowing his cock to spring free as he groaned. Almost as an afterthought he pulled the condom and lube from his pocket, casting them aside on the rug before moving around to get his pants off, putting them on the couch as well, his socks going to the floor next to his shoes. Shamelessly, he laid himself out on the rug, spreading his legs in clear invitation and then lifting his hand, holding it out for Bruce. "Come..."

The ghost of a smile slid over Bruce's face, the underlying joking quality to the statement obviously not missed. He settled himself very gingerly on his knees, leaning down over the younger man and catching his lips with his own once again. Within seconds their bodies met, Blake's arching from the floor and Bruce's pressing down toward him. It was almost as if both halves of them had a separate idea of what was going on. The kiss was passionate but nearly gentle while their hips ground against one another in a fashion that clearly told that not a single bit of this was one-sided. It may have been John's dream come true, but it was obviously something Bruce found a certain amount of desperate need in as well. Everything about the situation was telling for Blake... the way Bruce's fingers touched him, the way their bodies fit so well against one another. It all spoke volumes to him and he realized quickly that it wasn't just him that had wanted this, that had imagined it at some point. He slid his mouth along Bruce's cheek and then breathed out in his ear, "I know your secrets, Bruce Wayne... your deepest, darkest secrets."

It was as if those were the words Bruce had needed to pull closer to what Blake had imagined him to be. The fingers that pressed at his entrance were faster than he'd thought possible, already lubed, though he couldn't even fathom when Bruce would have had the chance. There was no questioning... not waiting, just doing. He gasped as the digits slid inside him and he did his best to relax around them, though all he truly wanted to do was fuck himself on them until he fell apart. He could feel the rush of the situation starting to get to him... feel the way he was already nearly desperate to know the intimacy of Bruce's cock buried inside him. He wanted to know every single nuance of how it would feel... how much he'd stretch around him, how far he would fit into his body- the thought nearly sent him spiraling and when he pulled himself back, he found that he was grasping Bruce's arms tightly, his back arched up hard from the floor, and his hips working on Bruce's fingers rapidly. He gasped and forced himself to calm down, drawing in air through his nose and then letting out a low groan as he breathed it back out.

Bruce pulled his fingers free, the sound of the condom opening greeting John's ears. A few motions and a moment later, the elder's slick length was pressing against him, the blunt tip resting right against him. He moaned, his head falling back as he arched up a bit more. "Please."

"You're going to beg me?" Bruce sounded nearly amused, though there was a gentle undertone of lust beneath that.

"Fuck me," Blake tried again.

"Try them together now." It was less of a request and more of an order, Bruce obviously taking cues from Blake's desires.

"Fuck me, please," the younger breathed out. "I need you inside me. I need to know how you feel..."

"Say what you're thinking and I'll do it. Let the truth of your desires out... Robin."

The name seemed to snap him forcefully back to those fantasies he'd had as a budding teenager, the ones where he'd imagined not Bruce Wayne behind him, but the caped savior of Gotham... _Batman_ behind him, fucking him hard against the dirty sink in the bathroom of the orphanage. He closed his eyes and breathed out, "I want to know how it feels for _both_ parts of you to claim me... _all_ of you, not just Bruce Wayne and not just Batman."

"Close enough," Bruce returned, his hips jerking forward, burying his cock deep inside Blake's body.

He was... perfection. The heat of his shaft filled him and he found himself arching up toward him, shivering in pure desire as he moaned and clung to the older man. The images of his childhood fantasies faded and he opened his eyes to focus on the here and now... on the man now laboring over him, filling him again and again, claiming him on the floor of his secret Paris home. Everything came into stark contrast for Blake in that moment. The fire crackled behind them, the wind gently pushed the snow past the window that John only now realized was partly opened... even the fibers of the rug beneath him were soft, caressing... finer than he realized he'd expected them to be. He pressed his thighs against Bruce's sides, one hand dropping from the other's bicep and trailing down over his stomach, pushing through the hair at the base of his own dick and then grasping the desperately hard length of it. Even as Bruce's pace picked up, Blake began to touch himself, his hand matching the pace Bruce was setting.

The moment things started to change, John picked up on it, realizing Bruce was close to his end. His hips flexed forward and his body began to quiver as though he understood somehow that he needed to strain toward his own orgasm if he wanted to come down remotely close to when Bruce did. There were a few more moments and then Bruce's pace fell apart completely, his thrusts erratic and his muscles tightening. Bruce's eyelids slid closed and a look of utter bliss slid over his face. He was silent as he came, but Blake could feel the throb of his cock as he filled the condom between them. Staring up into his face, the younger man went after himself twice as fast, straining desperately for his own end, a tiny whimper escaping him.

Bruce's hand joined his own and within seconds it was all over for him, the addition of the touch from the man he'd craved for so long throwing him over the edge. He let out a moan, his head falling back as his own cum splashed over his abdomen, pulse after pulse of it drawn forth by the combination of their hands, Bruce relentless in how he stroked him, even as John's fingers slackened. It wasn't until he was completely done and whimpering at how sensitive it was that Bruce relented, giving him a few more slow strokes and then releasing him. Even as he sat back, there was a smirk on his face.

Blake lay there on the rug, a quivering mass of post-coital bliss, not nearly as quick to recover from something as honestly life-changing as finally getting what he'd wanted, and stared up at Bruce.

"I'd ask you how it was... but that seems pretty obvious given the look on your face," Bruce offered quietly, his voice slightly altered from desire. 

It sent spirals of desire down Blake's spine and he stared up at the older man, a smirk sliding over his face. "I hope you realize I've still got five days of vacation left."

Bruce stood up and offered a hand to John. "Then I hope you realize you may be spending the next few hours talking with the Paris police force to report the theft of that Aston... I do hope it wasn't yours."

"Rental... and I could give a shit. It can wait until morning."

"It'll be long gone by then," Bruce commented.

"I'll find it," Blake retorted. "Later."

"Still a bit wet behind the ears, aren't you?"

"You're the one who threw me to the wolves without personal training, Mr. Wayne."

"Oh... I see..." Bruce turned and led the way up the stairs toward his bedroom. "Is that how this round is going then?" The limp seemed to almost entirely disappear from his step as he moved and Blake found himself wondering if perhaps it wasn't as much of a cover as Bruce Wayne the billionaire, industrialist, philanthropist had been. The ghost of a smile curved his lips as he came to the last stair on the landing. He had the feeling he'd be learning a lot in the next few days, no matter how it came to him.

**The End**


End file.
